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Temper
When I was younger, I had trouble with my temper. In the fourth and fifth grades I had taken part in small fights and unruly behavior, each time getting either detention or warnings. It became bad enough that my parents put a limit on it, declaring that I would have to be pulled from after-school basketball if I continued. During each year, I neared the limit of detentions, but never passed them. Once Middle School started, consequences were much more serious.
There was a 'no-tolerance' policy for fighting at the Middle School. If you got hit, and struck back, you were equally as guilty as the provacateur. I didn't know this until my first fight in middle school. You could only call it a fight, I suppose, because of the physical actions taken. Not really the time limit, because it was extremely short.
The story, without any emotional investment. I came back to my locker to find it open and a person looking at my jacket. My mind went blank and I pushed him out and away from the locker, whereupon he pushed me back. I pushed him again, and then he literally pulled no punches. He socked me in the eye, and I, being the twelve year old I was, went down.
I'm not ashamed to say that I cried. When I become extremely angry or agitated, the feelings seek outlet in the irrational flood of tears. I've learned since middle school that while this is embarrassing, it is definitely less of a hassle than having to throw fists around. Anyway, back to the story. I went down to the nurse's office to have it looked at, and of course to tell my side of the story. This would be the first serious trouble I'd been in at any school.
While the huge shiner that I had was developing, I was finding out about the consequences for my rash action at my locker. It appeared both my assaulter(who's name was Fred) and I would be spending a day taken up with in-school suspension. I told my parents about the fight(leaving out the repeated pushing part) and about the punishment that was afforded me. My mother was particularily happy about this, as she had stated before that if I were to be given out of school suspension, I would still be sent to school. My father felt that this was unfair, due to the fact that I was acting in accordance with the need to protect my own property.
The rules of the school were unbendable in this case. My father told me that it was all right, and that if this happened again, not to worry about what punishment the school would dole out, but to strike back as quick and as hard as possible to end it. A tip that would come in particularily helpful later on. Sage advice notwithstanding, a day of absolute boredom in a small room passed by, and I read the entire English text book.
I can't say why, but my mindset about fighting changed. I worked much harder on controlling my temper, not only to avoid fights, but also to avoid the punishment incurred. I achieved an inner balance, thanks in large part to God, and wasn't as angry with everything.
*****
Later on in that same year, I fought my last fight. I had done everything humanly possible to avoid it, but some things you cannot walk away from because the other party doesn't understand humanity.
It had started in Gym class, a class of particular annoyance to me, and in the shower room I had been muttering under my breath about some slight or another that had happened. Ricky, the local all-around troublemaker, picked up on my comments and told them to my soon to be nemesis. His name was Jose, and no, he was not any less of a white Minnesotan than I was. If there is one thing I want to make clear, this was not a hate crime.
Jose decided to make an issue out of my grumblings and began spouting off several comments about how he'd like to see me try anything. I decided that the best course of action was to let it blow over, and to clam up. No sense in aggravating the situation any more. I had grown much since my previous experiences. Ricky, on the other hand, began to egg Jose on. Comments from Jose became louder and more crude throughout the rest of the time waiting for the bell. He questioned my sexual orientation, my ancestry, my backbone. I said nothing. At last the bell rang, and the shower room emptied.
I began the walk to my locker, keeping my mouth shut, eyes forward, and anger muted. A sharp poke in the back of my head reminded me of the ugly reality behind me.
"Hey pussy! Why don't you try and fight? Huh?"
I kept walking. Another poke to the head.
"Hey, I'm talking to you limp dick! Fuckin' turn around asshole!"
I said nothing. I was the better man.
Another poke to the head, and more lewd comments. I turned around and said to Jose, "Knock it the fuck off!"
That seemed to stun him. I can't remember looking close enough at his face to get a description, as I turned around as swiftly as I said it and walked to my locker. I had hoped that that was the end of it, that he would just stop. I might have hoped for a pony while I was at it.
As I was turning my combination lock, my head was shoved into the locker. Something bubbled and broke free inside me. The fight is a blur. Here is what I can remember.
I turned around, and all I can remember is blackness for vision. It was as if I fought with my eyes completely shut. When I turned around I lashed out with my fist and hit Jose squarely in the eye. Peripheral vision is perhaps all I had, because I can remember the crowd of people that occurs whenever there is a fight. They were looking in from the edge of the locker banks, and over the top. They were cheering for whomever, it was all a loud static noise.
Jose hit me in the shoulder, and I countered with a lashing blow to his jaw, and another to his stomach. Then time twisted. My memory seems to lose two or three seconds, and the next thing I feel is his arms around my neck. Now some explaining about us both: I was about average height for that age, perhaps five feet, a little more. Jose reached my shoulder with the top of his head. He was hanging onto my neck with his toes off the ground, trying to choke me.
Perhaps God was truly with me, or just the insight of a blinded mind pushed beyond mere anger, but I saw the quickest way to end the fight. The fastest way to put him down, following my father's advice. The bank of lockers was behind me, with the specific lockers each having about an inch of metal sticking out where the locks were located. The coup de grace, if you will.
I rammed straight backwards into a locker. A quicker dismount you'll not see. My mind returned, and I looked around. The crowd surrounding us, I began to hear distinct shouts urging me to lash out more, but I saw him on the ground. A sight of pure pain, pain that I had caused. He was lying on his right side, his face disfigured in torment, his right hand clenched in a fist, his left clutching the small of his back.
I was ashamed, the tears began. I broke free from the crowd and headed down to the nurse's office for the second time that year from violence.
The discipline was different this time, as there were clear instances where he had instigated it. A different principal, or judge more accurately, helped as well. I received no suspension, detention, or reprimand. There were plenty of students who saw that I tried not to get involved, and that helped my case. Jose received some sort of punishment, but I can't recall what. It's unimportant.
*****
I learned a lot that year about anger, and especially about the consequences for losing control of it. It was a tough year for me, because I did not want to be there. I was displaced from my familiar grounds, and put among a greater number of students who really didn't seem to care for each other. I wasn't comfortable, and it made me angry much of the time.
The end of the year rolled around. The gym class was outside supposedly practicing for the mile test we had to do in less than a week. I was walking my customary three out of four laps(I wasn't one for physical exertion), when I walked past both Fred and Jose talking. Jose decided it was a good idea to bring me into it.
"Hey Sean, what would you say about that fight we had?"
I shook my head, not really wanting to talk about it. "Nothing much, really."
"Would you say I won? Because that's how it happened."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever works Jose."
And I walked faster, leaving them behind